Last night we attended the wedding reception of our goddaughter, Laura. It was a large gathering, and we found ourselves seated at a table with a number of people who, over 35 years ago, had attended the same high school within two or three years of each other. Most hadn’t been acquainted at the time they actually attended school, but in the course of the evening they all found connections to each other through shared friendships and family members. Because I was a spouse, I was not at all familiar with the people being discussed, but I listened with interest to the way vivid memories of so-long-ago were shared.

One thread of the conversation especially drew me in. At one point the folks around the table discussed teachers they remembered and had in common. Whereas earlier they might have had difficulty recalling a classmate’s or neighbor’s name, they all instantly came  up with that favorite fourth grade teacher or the second grade teacher who “was really mean.” It reminded me yet again of the position teachers have in our lives, and the power just one individual can have over the way a child responds to his or her entire educational experience. A great teacher can inspire a child with confidence and wonder; one who is “really mean” (doesn’t like kids, the job or the subject matter) can batter a student’s belief in himself and make him hate school and learning.

It also got me to recalling my grade school teachers–the good and the bad. I found I, too, had little difficulty recalling details from those early classroom days. There was Mrs. Gilbert, our fifth-grade teacher who stood apart from the rest of the parochial school staff in part because she was not a nun; in fact, she wasn’t even Catholic! She was a warm, motherly soul, though, and her love of her students shone through, even when she was disciplining us. She made science and history interesting and fun to a girl who had never liked either before. Another favorite was Sr. Jacinta Marie. She was one of the youngest nuns at the school; looking back, I’d guess she must have been in her twenties at the time, and we had been used to much older ladies in habits who didn’t seem at all like us. She had quite a formal and even stern demeanor in the classroom and had no difficulty in maintaining order over her 35 students. There were times, though, when a playful side of her would shine through the twinkle in her eye and the lilting brogue of her Irish accent. I remember a rainy lunchtime when we were confined inside, and she began juggling three oranges with the ease of a circus performer. That was certainly a sight none of us had ever seen before–a juggling nun!!

I’ll bet every one of you has more than a few stories of teachers, good and bad, that come quickly to mind. Care to share a few?

 Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader